


the impaled

by norio



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7830361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norio/pseuds/norio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bokuto is a vampire hunter. Akaashi owns an antiques store.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the impaled

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to tumblr user [battalion-stallion](http://battalion-stallion.tumblr.com/) for being so kind to request something of this sort, it was a wonderful sojourn. thank you!!

“Can I come in?”

“Of course. You don’t need to ask.” Akaashi smiled, wry and close-mouthed. Bokuto dusted the snow from his short coat, hiding the white ash stake tied to his belt. Only a few candles lit the room, the melting wax rolling down in thick drops. The snowstorm had knocked out the electricity for the section of the town. 

“This place is even creepier in the dark,” Bokuto complained, the door snapping shut behind him and shutting out the billowing snow. 

“How so?” Akaashi dusted off the statue of an angel. The statues, weathered and grey, stared out with sunken eyes and surrounded the room. Monochrome paintings hung from the walls, children caught in a whirl of blurred and shapeless faces. A doll in an ivory dress, trimmed with inky lace, rested motionless on the shelf. In the middle of the table, a bloom of blood red roses sat in a vase.

“Aren’t there happier antiques?” Bokuto picked up a mock animal skull.

“These things are very old. Some of them have become broken inside.” Akaashi set down his duster. “As always, if you break it, you buy it. I’m not sure if your wallet can withstand any more of your visits.”

“Akaashi—!” But he was right, and Bokuto reluctantly placed down the fake skull back atop old letters. 

“After all,” Akaashi continued, “being a self-proclaimed vampire hunter must not pay many bills.”

“I also work at the sports store!” 

“Yes, I remember. I enjoyed your game against the grocery store last Thursday.” Another close-mouthed smile, twisted up at the ends of his mouth. “You should work on your control.” 

“My control is great!” Bokuto almost knocked over the doll when he swung around, and he barely caught her before she toppled off the shelf. The tumble of curls tickled the scar on the back of his hand. Akaashi barely moved from the corner of the room. The candlelight cast a stark shadow over his face. 

“You’re very kind,” Akaashi said. “Thoughtlessly so.” 

“Akaashi, I’m here because the telephone lines are down.”

“And you were worried about me.”

“No, because I thought this would be my best chance to kill you.” Bokuto said this louder than he wanted, reverberating on the motionless clock. He prepared himself for an attack, but Akaashi barely moved, almost floating in light steps towards the table. 

Closer to the candlelight, Bokuto could see him more clearly. Akaashi was dressed in his usual stiff black waistcoat, white shirt underneath, with a red ribbon tied around his collar. As always, he seemed distant and professional. 

“I should have cleaned up the mess, then,” Akaashi said.

“I’m serious, Akaashi. I’m going to kill you.” Bokuto clenched his fingers over the stake, and then unclenched them. He tried to muster up the sudden move, but he could only grind his teeth together. 

“There are no such things as vampires. You’ve watched too many movies.” Akaashi smiled again, a ghastly horrid look. The candle flared. Bokuto could feel the chill in his bones from the snow that had layered itself upon the icy lake and frozen trees. The scar that crawled up his arm, jagged and broken, throbbed.

“The people in this town are dying. So many have already died. They say it’s a disease, but it’s you. You can’t fool me, Akaashi! Not with your tricks!” Bokuto pointed a finger at him. Akaashi sighed, elaborate and quiet. 

“You’ve always been obsessed with vampires. But they’re simply not real.” 

“They’re real! And you’re one of them! You’ve got all the signs, like, you never go out in the daytime.”

“My store simply keeps odd hours.”

“I’ve never seen you eat garlic!”

“I haven’t seen you eat garlic, either.”

“You’ve never been sick!”

“Unlike some people, I don’t dash out into the snow in the early mornings.” 

“If you don’t go in the mornings, then you don’t get the fresh snow, Akaashi—” Bokuto caught himself, and scowled. “Don’t do that! Listen, they’re dead. A lot of people are gone, and their blood’s been drained from their necks, and I know they’re saying I’m obsessed with vampires, but I know they’re real, and I think—you’re one of them. And I have to kill you before you kill again.” 

“I’ve lived in this town for years. Why would I start killing now?” Akaashi gave a mirthless smile. “If I was a vampire.” And that was true. Akaashi had been the mysterious stranger in town a few years ago, but he had long since been accepted into the village. His polite manners, accompanied by his caring personality, had easily won over those who mattered. 

“I don’t know,” Bokuto said unsurely, dropping his hand from the stake. 

“And the people who died. They hadn’t been very kind to you, had they?” 

“No,” Bokuto said, feeling even more off-kilter and woozy, like the heavy smoke of the candles clung like film to his lungs. The first man had who died had said that he should have been lost for good. The first woman who had died had once said the town had been better off without him. The second man had thrown rocks at his head, and now that he thought about it, they had all been menacing in their own ways. 

“I remember,” Akaashi said softly, like a trance, “you came to my store and complained about them.”

“But they didn’t need to die. I never said that!” 

“No.” Akaashi smiled thinly. “Of course you haven’t. You’ve always been thoughtlessly compassionate.”

“You’re a vampire,” Bokuto said, trying to force his conviction. He sounded desperate instead. “I’m not saying this to be compassionate or not, I don’t care if you’re my best friend. You’re a vampire.”

“Vampires aren’t real. You’ve only called yourself a vampire hunter to act like the hero of this town, to try to get them to like you. Or have I done something that you dislike?” Akaashi sat on the table in front of him, palms resting against the edge. He barely blinked, seemingly uncaring about the answer. Bokuto swallowed. 

“I like you, Akaashi. You always listen to my problems and you’d talk to me even when you’re busy.”

“I don’t have much choice. You won’t leave until I listen.”

“You get me all these gifts!” 

“You break things and can’t afford to pay for them.”

“You’re always asking if I dress up warmly enough and stuff like that!”

“That’s common sense,” Akaashi said. “And you rarely do.” 

“Okay, fine! Fine, you’re not a vampire! Vampires aren’t real! And you’re not my friend! Fine, okay, fine!” Bokuto grabbed his shirt into his fist, pulling across his waist. “But Akaashi—why—why can’t I see your reflection?” 

Akaashi blinked, and slowly turned to the photographs spread across the walls. On the glimmering glass, above the trapped pictures, the candlelight showed Bokuto standing in front of an empty table. 

“To be honest,” Akaashi said softly, “I didn’t think you would notice this soon.” 

Two things happened. Bokuto drew out his stake a second too late, and Akaashi knocked him over. The stake was knocked out of his hands. Akaashi grabbed his hair and smashed his face against the ground. It felt cold and hard. His mouth tasted like metal. He swung his arm behind him, catching something on the ends of his knuckles. The candles were too distant. He felt around the objects, the cold smooth knight from a chess piece, the jangle of piano pieces, small pinpricks of jewelry. No stake. 

Someone—Akaashi—grabbed his collar and shoved him into the table leg. A crack. His nose and mouth were wet. He smashed his elbow backwards, and the pressure gave way. He tried to stumble away. He caught the edge of the table and toppled over. Glass, shards of small glass, from a broken vase, mingled with the soft petals. His old scar had torn, skin ripped up his arm. He tasted something warm. Glass stuck out from his hands. It hurt. It hurt. A candle had fallen and the clock had caught on fire. 

Akaashi stood over him. He was not the kind Akaashi who sighed underneath his breath and welcomed Bokuto into his store. This Akaashi had pinprick pupils and engorged fangs. 

This Akaashi kicked him in the gut. 

He couldn’t breathe. He wheezed. His arms clamped on Akaashi’s shin and dragged him down. The wood smashed. The smell of old moss burning, dry and crackling. Bokuto punched Akaashi in the face. The glass hurt. His head hurt. His chest hurt. Akaashi shoved him back to the ground and sat on top of him. Bokuto tried to swing his arms. Akaashi knelt on the soft joints of his elbows with all his weight. 

“You can’t kill me,” Akaashi said. His eye had become a bruised mess. The fire burned on the clock. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said. His voice sounded like a croak. He wasn’t sure if he burned with anger, fear, or pain. 

“Vampires are immortal. But I still chose to stay here for years. I put up those pictures and hoped you would find me. I hoped you would notice.” Akaashi leaned down. “I didn’t think I would ever find you again. But I did. And you came to me.” 

Akaashi’s voice was soft like the damp dirt of a graveyard. Bokuto tried to close his eyes and imagine himself back to his empty room. If he opened his eyes, the fire would stop blazing. He would knock on Akaashi’s door and Akaashi would sit at the opposite side of the table and listen to him and sometimes he would say something so acerbic and mean that Bokuto would have to laugh and the full moon would hang bright and cheerful on the sky. 

“For a long time, I was alone. Vampires live a long time, but they can die by stakes, by fire. But I was going to end it all out in the snowy mountains. Do you remember?” 

“Get off me.” Bokuto opened his eyes, but that was a mistake. Akaashi had leaned further into him, mouth open with no breath. His eyes swam with sadness. His canines stuck out from his mouth. 

“You were young. I could smell your blood. You had fallen off a cliff and hurt yourself.” Akaashi’s cold fingers trickled up the puckered skin of the open scar, and Bokuto jerked backwards into the floor. “You were delirious. You asked if I was cold. You gave me your coat, even though you weren’t dressed for the snow. You were thoughtless.” 

“I don’t remember.” And louder: “I don’t remember, Akaashi.” The adrenaline still rushed through him. He gasped shallowly through his mouth, blood tangy between his teeth. His tongue felt swollen and lolled against his cheek. He tried not to remember the faint visage of a snowy night, blood dripping from his fingers and leaving a long red gash in the snow. In the back of the woozy memory, he could almost make out a figure standing in the whirling snow.

“I knew you would die if I didn’t return you. So I buried my pyre with snow and took you back to your village. And years later, when I wandered to a small town, I recognized your scent.” Akaashi spoke barely underneath the crackles of the fire. “You were like the sun to me.” 

“What do you want?” The blood trickled into the back of his throat. 

“I’m hungry.” 

Bokuto winced and waited for the pinch in his neck, the tongue against his skin, teeth piercing into flesh. He felt nothing but the strange warmth of flames. 

“Oh,” Akaashi said, a lilt of surprise. “No. No, though your blood tastes good. Warm. Just right. But I’m more lonely than hungry. It’s just like a bite. But don’t worry. You’ll probably be a good vampire, but I’ll hunt food for you, all the same.” It took a moment for Bokuto to recognize the words. 

“Wait—” He struggled, hands clasping into fists and the glass digging into his hands, carving scar marks in thick clotting blood.

“You must be sorry for what you did, even if you don’t remember.” Akaashi’s collar was skewed, torn at the corner. Bokuto felt like his head was throbbing in pain. He had to think up something. A vampire hunter could always escape. He could overpower him. He could run away. He could disappear. He laughed and almost choked on his wheezing chest, his nose aching. Akaashi barely moved, but Bokuto could feel his icy fingers tighten on his shoulders. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said, defiant with blood in his mouth. “I don’t regret saving you.” 

This time, Akaashi’s smile had no sharp angles. It was a small and soft curve, tentative, like he wasn’t sure if his face could bend that way and that it wounded him to try.

“You always did know how to hurt me,” Akaashi said softly. 

Akaashi bent his head down. The fire spread to the doll. Blood dripped and formed a slow puddle on the dents of the floor. Somewhere, the snow continued to fall on an old pyre.


End file.
